A Quidditch Story
by CordeliaFudge
Summary: Anxious, shy, Penny playing quidditch? And what's this of a relationship with Hugo Weasley? All to come! Includes quidditch, classes, friendships, enemies, siblings and more. Have a look! Hugo/OC Rating is currently T for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Story Information:

Characters:

Hugo Weasley

OC (Penny)

OC (Pam Wood)

Lysander Scamander

Rose Weasley

+Others

Plot:

Includes quidditch, classes, friendships, enemies, siblings and more. Bad at summaries. Significantly less bad at writing stories.

**AN: **_New story! I've realized that there aren't really any long school stories with Hugo, and decided to work on that. This chapter is just an intro, pretty much. I know it's very filler-y, but I didn't want to just dive into the plot. This one's just a little insight into how Penny is and how her relationship with Pam works. The next one'll be much more substantial, I promise!__I just couldn't think of too many inconsequential things to write about. Anyway, you should read it!  
_

* * *

Going Back

We're going back for our fifth year. This is it. Closer to adult-stuff. OWLs. Yet as I look around, I notice how not much has really changed since last year. Pam is going on and on about quidditch, I'm yawning because I barely got three good hours of sleep last night, and my trunk smells wierdly of bubblegum, courtesy of the latest edition of my mother's bizarre perfume collection being prayed twenty six times inside. Thanks mom.

Just like last year, and every year starting from my first, I anxiously tap my feet on the stones beneath, even though I have no reason to be nervous. We're really very early, so I tug Pam over to sit with me against the barrier. My fingers join my feet. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap, tap, tap-tap, tap, tap -"Penny, are you even listening?" Pam interupts. "I'm telling you, with enough planning, the cup'llbe ours. I know we already got it back in second year, but that doesn't count as much for me, since I was almost never allowed to play, and they only let me on the team because of my dad, not because I'm brilliant. Obviously I _am_ brilliant, but that wasn't really a part of it. But now-" this time I interupt her.

"Pam, I _know_. We've been over this practically the whole summer. This year's your year. Hurrah," I deadpan, tired of the constant quidditch talk and inclusion of her background information, all of which I _already know_ since we've been best friends since the end of first year.

"Yeah, sorry. I just-" it seems like being interrupted is our thing today. I feel a hard blow to my back and the next thing I know, I'm lying scrawled on my back.

Why wasn't it a good idea to sit against the platform? Oh right, this is why. But Pam seems pleased to be knocked away by whoever it was. I squint my eyes. Oh. Quidditch captain. A Weasley, I think. Of _course_ she's pleased. She gets to talk quidditch with someone who cares. Meh.

"Pam... I can't..." I softly call out to her, and both she and Mr. Quidditch Weasley look down at me, the later looking rather bemused, eyebrows raised.

"Oh!" She says, laughing, and starts helping me up.

"I think I broke my... self," I finish lamely, sending her further into giggles and sending Mr. Quidditch's eyebrows further up his face, making me feel even more self-conscious, shy, and awkward. How far can those damn things go? Luckily he decides to get on the train, and bids Pam goodbye before there can be any more attention drawn to me.

"Psh, Penny, you didn't break your-_self_," I'm told. "Just your wrist. Hand it over." Yeah, says she-who-has-broken-every-bone-in-her-body-twice. Which isn't a lie, she actually has, and brags about it. Thank god for magic or she would be one disfigured girl. But I don't say anything, because Pam's a great healer too (she'd have to be, the way she plays quidditch), but she isn't stellar when she's distracted, and the broken wrist is my wand one. When she's done, we head on the train. It's still early, but it'll be good to get seats before they fill up. We learned our lesson last year when we got here five minutes before the train left and were forced to squeeze in with a bunch of obnoxious Gryffindors.

We settle in, and wait for the ride back to school to begin.

* * *

As soon as we step into our dormitory, Pam says,

"Something's missing..." just like she does every year, and just like every year, I pretend to be curious as to what she means.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure..." She taps her pointer finger against her chin in an overly emphasized way, and I jump onto my bed.

"hm..."

"hm..." Pam "thinks" a moment more before giving up the act. "Okay, so what color do you want this year?"

"I dunno, purple? Or maybe a light blue..."

"That'll show stains easily..."

"We can just clean it by magic, can't we?"

"Still... I don't think my scourgify is good enough."

"Well..." My scourgify is pretty good, since my parents can't do it for me and I hate using the big clanky laundry machines they do -it takes ages longer. But I don't want to make Pam feel bad- I might deny it to her face, but she's terrible at charms. I've tried tutoring her, but I know she hates it when I try to teach her things. I'm actually quite worried for her for the charms OWL this year. But she's scraped by in the past, so I shake my head of it and reconsider shag carpet colors. "How about a sage-y, greyish-green?"

"Penny, that sounds disgusting."

"Let's just try it."

"No, it sounds like the color a cat's bile would be after it ate a dead old lady." I feel squeamish, and squeal and snort at the same time. This is why we're friends.

"And I acknowledge that. Now let's try it." I wave my wand and mutter the spell, and the carpet changes. It's a little lighter and brighter than I expected, and spotty in a couple of areas where the black shows through. The carpets used to all be yellow to reflect our house color, but in our second year Professor Sorinstern came up to inspect the dorms and freaked when she saw how dirty it looked. To be fair, it _had_ been around way longer than I had, I'd guess over fifty years. All the past heads of house couldn't have cared less, but Sorinstern's ridiculous about cleanliness. Anyway, she ripped out the stuff the next day and had it replaced with fluffy black shag. Pam's still considering the carpet. She takes this far too seriously. Our dormmates used to bother us about it, but when they saw how intense she got, they decided to leave us alone. Good decision on their part, since Pam could tear them apart. Just from the looks she gives them, I think they're still scared of her.

"I think I like this demented-cat-retch color of yours, Penneronni."

"That nickname is ridiculous."

* * *

**AN: **_In the interest of leaving time for people to start reading, I'll be waiting until the day after tomorrow to post the next chapter. Or maybe tomorrow. Anyway, be sure to leave a review and tell me what you think!_

_~Cordelia_


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:**_ Back with another chapter just hours later! I have insomnia, so I spent the night putting this together, and I got excited to put it up! Plus I thought I should give people more to go on if I want them to get interested, or review anything. Anyway, enjoy!_

Disclaimer: I am not blonde. I am not rich. I own nothing of much concern other than a pair of very fuzzy PJs that I'm especially fond of. They really _are_ very fuzzy.

Consequences of Stormy Weather (and those damn Ravenclaws)

It's raining, and everyone's outside watching the game, including me. The rain is bearing down hard- it's terrible, but no one wants to leave the first match of the season. This determines starting positions for the whole year, and this year, we got to be in the first match, against Ravenclaw. Everyone knows the season's been scheduled that way to start off clean and avoid the huge Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry, and I hate to say it, but it was a pretty great move. Things will fall into place more easily, and then at the end of the season, Gryffindor and Slytherin can have their attention fest, if it's even necessary.

I shiver and wrap my old sweater tighter around me, which doesn't make much of a difference. The cold seems to tear straight through it, and I regret leaving my wand back in our dorm. I'd go back and grab it, but Pam would kill me if she found out I'd missed a moment. Curious laws govern these quidditch games- the two minutes you're daydreaming or running to get a snack always seem to be the most eventful two minutes of the entire match.

Our dorm mates are all squeezing in close to me now, as they've realized that with my umbrella I'm getting significantly less wet than they've been. For the past ten minutes they've been trying to cast a water repelling charm on themselves and it won't stick, and now it's all I can do not to tell them that their pronunciation on the third syllable was wrong as they shove up against me.

"_20-50 to Ravenclaw! I repeat, 30-50 to Ravenclaw! Those bludgers are really going wild up there, and the Hufflepuff team is _not_ prepared! Their chasers are barely avoiding being knocked out for good, and- watch this! –Weasley is barely avoiding being taken down! _

I groan. The other teams might seem worse, but clearly Ravenclaw can play dirty too. I take out my binoculars and squint into them to have a closer look. The thing is, the bludgers aren't just going crazing on our team. They're going crazy on everyone, everywhere, fast as the lightning storming down from the skies, but the Ravenclaw beaters are just as fast.

"Of course! They've clearly been training for this! It's deplorable! How can the professors not see what's going on here?!" I exclaim, and the girls around me look uncomfortable. "Erm… sorry… I mean, uh…" I fade off. Sometimes I forget that I don't like talking to people and I say weird things like this, which makes me even more afraid to talk to people. Frankly, it's an endless cycle.

I think over what I just announced in my head once more- yes, that's got to be it. But- "_Woah, and Smolders, Hufflepuff beater, seems to be spinning out of control. This storm is not helping thing. Smolders is coming down, people! Well, we could tell that Hufflepuff couldn't hold the bludgers off indefinitely! Hufflepuff looks like they're calling a time out- well, it's hard to tell with all this rain, and we're just getting informed by Hooch that all time outs have been exhausted, so- hold up! and Ravenclaw's got the snitch, RAVENCLAW WINS! Ravenclaw wins 220:30!" _

The blue across from us erupts and our yellow groans and protests.

"Wait!" I hear our quidditch captain Weasley call. He, the Ravenclaw captain, and the two respective heads of house gather, and all anyone can hear is arguing. Weasley and Storinstern sound positively indignant. Our other team members look like they'd like to come over and hash it out too, but they're too busy tending to Smolders, who looks like a bloody mess, literally.

* * *

"I cannot _believe_ it!" a drenched Pam Wood walks, dripping, into our dorm room two hours after the match ended. "Apparently there was an official change in the bludger speed, 'for extra challenge.' The Ravenclaws were in charge of telling us, and they _conveniently_ 'forgot' to do so. We'd been practicing with the old bludgers, Penny! So now we have to win our next match by a huge margin to even dream of getting that cup. And Smolders is out for the season! Weasley's good, but he can't very well beat alone! Smolders landed nastily, his neck's all twisted and so's everything else. He figured since he couldn't hit the damn things fast enough, he'd just absorb as much of them as he could! Stupid, stupid," she muttered, pacing furiously. Pam exploded again with a kick to the side of her four-poster. "DAMN IT! It's not fair, it's just no fair Pen, it's no fair…"

"Want to go out for a fly with me?" I offer. "No playing obviously, just to relax. You know how I don't like to play."

"No thanks. I'm beat and I've got to rest, our stupid captain's scheduled us a practice tomorrow morning at four A.M."

"Pam, that's practically night time. But you know, if you were captain, you'd probabl-"

"-probably do the same thing, yeah, I know. Anyway, I'm sleeping now, but you go ahead. Although I _still_ don't understand how someone can like flying, but not like quidditch. That's like someone saying they like rootbeer, but not rootbeer floats! And wh-"

"And who doesn't like rootbeer floats?" I finish for her. This is an exchange we've had before. "I'll see you next morning. What do we have together?" In response I get a soft snore. "right. Charms," I answer my own question before grabbing my broom, shoving open the window, and kicking off into the dark skies.

I love flying, I do. My parents were always rather disturbed by all of the magic in Diagon Alley, so starting from when I was eleven years old, as soon as they'd exchanged money for me, they left me to my own devices to collect the things on my school list. They expected me to be sensible, and, the sensible person I am, I was. For the most part, that is. Before my third year, I snuck into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ and got the best broom I could with the spare galleons I'd been saving. I was able to get a _Swift_10, which is almost as good as a _Swift_11, but not nearly as good as a _Sweep_ or a _Swoop_. I didn't actually have to sneak, but I felt like I should. It was something no one would ever expect me to do, not even me. I never told anyone, except Pam, of course. And I didn't tell her the odd story, just that I'd gotten a broom over the summer. She was happy for me, but quickly lost interest when it became apparent that neither was it a spectacular broom (her dad being Oliver Wood, she has a _Swoop_17. Crazy.) nor did I have any interest in putting it to use in a game of quidditch.

It's not that I don't like quidditch, really… I understand it well enough, and I've read some _very _interesting books on strategy that I enjoyed thoroughly. It's just that this is better. Soaring through the clouds, fresh rain falling on my face as the rest of the world sleeps, this is what flying should be.

I circle a little lower, to where the mist is thinner, but I'm still far, far above normal flying heights and the air is stiff, even with my fading charm attempting to get me more oxygen. Through the fog I spy a dark, fast whirling shape over the quidditch field. I loom closer and closer until I see who it is. Oh. Weasley. Figures.

This is why I don't play quidditch. The obsession- I just don't think I could handle it. I make a sharp turn and head back to our dorm window.

Charms the next day is awful. And by that I mean it is awful for Pam. She's still a bit sleep deprived and bruised, with quidditch on the brain and no charms studying to call back on.

"And how would I do this, Miss Wood?" Pam is startled out of thoughts that I'm sure have nothing to do with charms. I let out a small internal sigh.

"What- huh?"

"_circular motion followed by pentagonal movements,_" I attempt to feed Pam the answer, but the plan backfires.

"Er, molecular flowing, um, with agonizing movements?" The class snickers.

"Uh, good try!" I encourage her half-heartedly.

Professor Carrol isn't so kind. "Ms. Babbit, I'll take five points from Hufflepuff for attempting to help Ms. Wood cheat. I'll give you five points back for knowing the correct answer –I have eagle ears, you know. Ms. Wood, kindly meet me in my office at six o'clock for your detention."

* * *

"Bloody hell!"

"Pam…."

"This situation warrants cursing, Penny, as does the situation _whenever_ I curse. There's a reason people do it, you know!"

"I bet if we started a cursing jar, I would get so rich. I did that at home, actually, because I wanted some easy money, and it worked out rather brilliantly if I do say so mys-"

"Penny! I have no time for your endearing, cute anecdotes of your astounding cleverness! I was supposed to be at the try-outs for a new beater twenty minutes ago, and but thanks to this morning I've been preparing to be Carrol's slave for the evening instead. He's gonna have my head…." She shakes said head worriedly, like she wants to use it as best she can before it's had by her quidditch captain. If it's possible, her face becomes even more drawn now," _and_ we were all supposed to bring a candidate with us for beater! I totally forgot! Ugh, I could've at least sent someone! Think, who can I send….." I try to at least look like I'm thinking, even though I know I'll come up empty. "Oh! I know!"

"Wait, what was that? We don't know anyone who could play decently and would do it with only ten minutes' notice, Pam, do we?" But she isn't looking at me now, she's busy scrawling on a piece of paper, then folding it up, then shoving it in my hands.

"Here, take this to Weasley, will you? I _promise_ Pen, I _promise _I'll make it up to you!"

Weird. But I just nod and head off toward the quidditch pitch.

I can't help wondering what's in the note, I really can't. But there must be a reason Pam folded it up, right? It must be private. I keep walking with determination. I will not open the paper. I will not open the paper. I will not open the paper.

When I get to the pitch, it's not nearly as crowded as I'd expected. The rain's continued into today, so I suppose a lot of people must have decided to stay in, and by now it seems everyone's gone. There are only two people from the team other that Weasley out too, which makes me feel better for Pam. Clearly she wasn't the only one who couldn't make it. I walk up to Pam's captain, and stand there nervously for a minute before thrusting out the crumpled half-sheet of what I'm just now realizing is my muggle notebook paper. Did Pam steal another one of my notebooks?

"Really?" I hear him say. And since I have no idea what the note said, I'll just have to go along with whatever it said.

"Yup." I say, trying to sound confident and sure, like someone who really knows what they're agreeing to, "Really." He looks a little disbelieving, but continues,

"Well do you have a broom, or do I have to lend you a school one?"

"What? I have a broom? But why would I- "

And then it hits me. How could I not have realized this before? Why am I so naïve? How could Pam do this to me? "I mean, ah, um, right. I know what I'm doing. I'm playing quidditch! I'm trying out! This was the plan all along!" I say, knowing that I sound a little crazy, then finishing brightly, "I just, uhm, I forgot my broom!"

"Right. You'll borrow a broom." He resolves, muttering something involving 'goddamn Wood' and 'complete waste of time.'

The other two team members, Brooks and Bates, are now sitting in the bleachers, tossing popcorn into each others' mouths, and Weasley doesn't even regard them when he returns, carrying an old _Firebolt_ 2 in his hands. Wordlessly he hands it over. I mount and am handed a heavy beater's bat. Not too heavy, but enough to be annoying for someone of my size. I grow even more nervous. I know how to fly, but I don't know how to fly while being watched. I know how to fly, but I don't know how to hit. Oh god. Are we using those high-speed death things? I won't get out of this alive, will I, I'll end up with my neck all twisted like Smolders! Oh god, oh god, oh god,

"We'll be using the old bludgers, so you won't have to fear for your life so much. Just your appendages, mainly, so long as you can hit."

I played baseball with the muggle children when I was younger, and it was similar in the respect that you hit a ball with a bat. I was always pretty decent at that, but that wasn't on a broom, flying through the air.

"I'll be going up with you. Your job is to not let the bludger at me. Let's go." And up I go. Up, up, up. I go as fast as I can, used to seeking the familiar cloud cover. "Oi! Not so fast!" Weasley must think I'm out of control.

"Sorry, force of habit," I say, hovering lower, even though I know he can't hear me. He releases the bludger and then zooms up to my level. Soon after, something else zooms up to my level to meet us. Something big and black. "So…" he says in an effortless monotone, "just try to hit it." He keeps his own bat up, so I know if I miss it, we probably won't die. It zips around us, and then I do just what he said. I'm trying to hit it. For reasons unknown, I'm heading _into_ the path of the bludger. It's coming towards me. Why am I doing this? How did I even get here? _I'm going to die. I really and truly am. At least I've already told Pam what wood I'd like to comprise my coffin-_ SMACK. My bat collides with the ball and sends it careening downwards. I look up in relief, and almost think I might see a faint smile on Weasley's face, but then I realize that the ball is rocketing right back up, straight towards us. Towards Hugo, to be precise. He still holds the bat in his hand, but this time his arms are spread out as he sits in the air, his bat dangling. Time slows and I see his eyebrows raise. _What are you going to do? _

_Hit it_ I meet his eyes for a nanosecond, and then there I am again, between him and the bludger, this time hitting it left, harder and longer and curved, so it might not rebound so easily.

"That's all." Weasley says. He throws his bat down to the rest of his things on the field and flies off at high speed to capture the bludger, appearing moments later below, struggling to keep it in the hold of his wand. I lower and land next to him on the cool grass, my heart still racing. Thank god it's over. This has been the weirdest experience and now I just want to run back to our dorm room and curl up with _Advanced Runes: Year Five –Exploring Phonetic Values and Nuanced Runes_. In fact, that's exactly what I would do, but I need to return the broom, and I feel it would be rude to simply leave it on the ground. What even happened up there in the air?

"You got it, practice is at five tomorrow."

"What?"

"You got it."

"I didn't even know I was trying out until you asked me if I wanted to borrow a broom."

"I know."

"Really?"

"You were shaking like a leaf."

"I'm perpetually anxious. That's pretty normal for me."

He chuckles, "Yeah, well, it was obvious."

I feel a little offended. "Yeah, well, I didn't even know I was trying out until I was practically up in the air," I repeat in a small, cross voice that I wish was a little bigger. Whatever. The message got across.

"Yeah, well, I didn't even know you were good until you showed me you could hit," he retorts. "Are you coming to practice or not?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, sure."

"What's you're name again?"  
"I never told you my name. You just feel bad because you don't know it. You don't have to, you don't know me. Only now you do, so just ask what my name is."

He cracks a small smile again. "What's your name?"

"Penny Babbit."

"Practice is at five, Penny Babbit. Try to get Wood to come ontime too."

**AN:** _This chapter is a bit more substantial, with significantly more plot, anyway. It still isn't long, I know, but we're getting there. It would totally make my very early morning if you would review, whether it be positive, or more critical. Next chapter soon to come! (in a few days.)_


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** _So if you're reading this, you've probably already read chapters one and two, and you've decided to continue on. Thanks! This chapter is a little shorter than the last, but not extremely short, I don't think. I'm hoping in the future they'll be more in the 3,000-4,000word range, but we'll see. Anyway, enough from me, here it is!_

* * *

Practice

As we walk out of transfiguration, I rub my eyes furiously, hoping to wake myself up more. School's barely been in for a month and a half, but the teachers are already cracking down and giving us tons of studying and homework to do in preparation for OWLs. I only got three hours of sleep last night, just making sure that I was as caught up as I could be. I can't help it- it's not that I'm stupid, I just tend to learn more slowly.

"I hate it when people say I'm smart," I complain to Pam.

"Penny, I hate to tell you, but that sounds pretty stuck-up."

"Bu-"

"Seriously, if I wasn't your friend, I'd slap you." I try to explain myself,

"No, what I mean is, it's like they're saying I don't even have to try! I only know all the things I know through a pattern of sleep deprivation and sacrifice of free time. I can't seem smart on the spot, you know that! I mean, in situations I haven't prepared for, I act enormously think. I'm just saying, it'd be nice if for once someone came up to me and said, 'you know what? You're not that smart.'"

"You know what? You really aren't that smart, Penny."

"Um, thanks. I mean, I suppose this isn't really a terrible problem to have. I'm acting a bit daft, really…"

This is one of the things I love about Pam. She doesn't coddle me, and she doesn't pretend anyone's better than they are. She tells me when something's my fault, and doesn't pretend with me that it's someone else's. The honesty can be annoying, and taken the wrong way easily, but sometimes I need it.

"Oh, so, quidditch today, I guess," I mention, still feeling uncomfortable with the idea.

"Yeah. You ready?" She asks, sounding unusually concerned. Pam's clearly not used to it either.

"….I-I guess. I mean, it's a bit unexpected, don't you think? Me being on the team?" Well, obviously. I didn't really have to say that. "And as a _beater_. I mean, if anything, you'd expect me to be a seeker, right?"

"No offense Penny, but you can't catch for shit." I elbow Pam in the side in response to her language. We have very different policies on cursing. She's of the mind that as long as you don't get caught, you should curse to your heart's content. I, however don't deem it necessary… well… ever. "_Goody-goody_ ," she mumbles irritatedly in response.

"Well, just in terms of size, I mean," I continue on. "Aren't beaters supposed to be rather large?"

"Traditionally, maybe. But even traditionally, there's always been more to a beater's position than people think. It's not just big burly person hitting a ball around, not on the best teams, anyway. I'm not saying that strength isn't a plus- it is, but there's actual strategy to the position. I thought you said you'd read that book I gave you on quidditch strategy a couple of days ago."

"I may have….. uh… skimmed…." I hear a groan. "But hey, you said you'd studied charms, but you didn't do that!" I remind her.

"That's because it never even makes a difference, Penny. Even when I study, I just _don't get it_. Especially that 'Theory of the Conservation of Natural Temperament' business we've been doing. Well, all the theories, really…"

"I could help you study, Pam," I offer for the seventh time already this year. I already know her answer, so I suppose there's no point, but I feel bad that I'm not able to help. We study most everything else together, but she refuses to do charms work with me.

"Let's just get to lunch, okay?" And so the topic passes.

* * *

The sun shines brightly on the quidditch field, glinting dazzlingly off of broomsticks and goal hoops. I'm desperately wishing that it would just go away (the sun, that is,), or, rather, be concealed by the looming kind of grey rain clouds I've grown so fond of. I can hear my own heart pumping and I'm convinced my it's jumped into my neck. I can feel it there, in my throat, _thump-thump, thump-thump. _Surely to have an organ banging on like this isn't healthy. My breaths seem to come faster than usual and the more I think about it the quicker they come. I'm already nervous enough without the sun taunting me. I can imagine a full baker's dozen of things that could go wrong.

This morning, I spent an eternity getting ready, stressing over everything, even my trainers. I mean, what if blue trainers aren't allowed, even for practice? Pam has yellow ones. This IS Hufflepuff, after all. What if the team thinks I'm a spy for the Ravenclaw team! Pam reminded me that I wouldn't be on the team if I were a Ravenclaw, but that specific qualm was just one head on a hydra, and as soon as it was chopped off, many more worries replaced it. What if Weasley just doesn't like blue ever since he ate a Bertie Bott's blue bean in his third year, and he thought it would be blueberry but instead it tasted like polluted river water?! Plus then, even I'm berated for my shoe choice, his subconscious will have drawn a conclusive connection between me and dirty river water! He'll hate me so much he'll- wait. What am I supposed to call **'**He?' Er, him, I mean.

Well, obviously his friends would call him by his first name, wouldn't they? But I'm a year younger than he is, very possibly close to two, considering I'm well on the young side for fifth year, though he doesn't know that, I don't think… and I'm certainly not his friend. Not that we're deliberately not friends or anything, there's just never been any sort of reason for us to be.

Maybe I can just avoid talking to him until I figure something out? But, oh no, what _is_ his first name anyway? It's like when I forgot the word for, 'kiwi,' or even my own brother's name- I know I know it, but the word just won't venture far enough out on my tongue. It's something Weasley, obviously…..

How could I forget? Well, there _are_ quite a lot of Weasleys, but still! Everyone in Hufflepuff knows his name, because everyone in Hufflepuff loves him for his quidditch!

Ohgod. Ohgod. Ohg_-_wait. Right. _Hugo Weasley. _ That was it. However could I have forgotten! Though I've already ruled calling him, "Hugo," would just be awkward. I don't even think we'd ever talked before the try-out. And, "Weasley," seems like it would be just as bad….. or does it? "Captain Weasley?" God, no!I hope it's not does Pam call him? Why can't I remember? But it's too late to ask Pam now –she's already started toward the rest of them, and it'd be positively embarrassing to be heard asking what to call the captain.

And now here I am, standing with the rest of the on the bright green grass, internally shaking with anxious anticipation, feeling like I might have a sudden upheaval of this morning's breakfast. I look down at my left hand to see that it's quivering. I guess the shaking isn't happening quite as deep down as I thought.

"Alright team, gather round!"

I walk over to the clump of people drawing together, growing even more self conscious of my quidditch robes. At least they're uniform, so I can't worry about messing that up. A part of me is actually excited for this- it wants to get out there and play, and show people what I can do, and perhaps do a few Warshky rolling dives for good measure. Needless to say, that part doesn't make up enough of my consciousness to do any more than to make the rest of me shudder. My stomach does a few Warshky rolling dives of it's own accord.

"So obviously, after that little stunt by the Ravenclaws, we've had to replace Smolders. I held try-outs, yesterday, which I have to tell you about because _only two of you were actually there with me._ The rest of you were in detention! Jacobs, stop pissing off the professors. Reynolds, stop getting into fights. And Wood, get your charms grade up or Storinstern says I'm going to have to suspend you!" Pam turns pink. "Anyway, it really would have been good to see how she worked with everyone, rather than just me- since Arnolds and Bianchi couldn't be bothered even though they _were _at the pitch- here's our new beater. Penny Babbit."

He gestures toward me and I can feel the team's eyes surveying me critically.

"Er, Hugo…"

"Weasley, she's- ehm- she's sort of tiny, don't you think?"

I squirm.

"Well, yes," said Weasley.

"Bet she can't even lift seventy pounds."

Hugo turned to look at me again for a minute before saying, "That's probably true too."

"Right. So why would you….?"

"She can hit," Hugo Weasley shrugs, "she has good aim. And frankly, she's the best we can get at this point. Our team doesn't exactly have the best reputation guys, you know that. No one wants to be on a losing team. The rest of the tryouts were jokes," he shook his head. "Just work with her and make it work, okay?"

"How's she supposed to protect us when-"

"-don't worry about it. She knows how to fly. She'll need lots of individual or specialized training. Wood, can you do that?" Pam grins.

"Of course! We'll-"

"Wait- how'd you do on your last charms paper?" Now Pam shifts uncomfortably and looks a little sick. Finally she starts sheepishly,

"….uh, s-"

"Stop. If it's anything below a seventy I don't want to hear it."

Pam hung her head, "Then I won't tell you. But they're _my _grades, Weasley, you're not my mother!"

"Do you want to be on this team or not, Wood? You're a bloody good chaser, but that doesn't matter if you can't play. Now get your damn grade up or you'll wish for something as nice as my acting like your mother! Are we clear?"

"Yep," Pam pops the 'p' sound loud and dejectedly. It's a weird combination that's very her- she over emphasizes the ends of everything when she's upset.

"Good," Weasley says firmly and cuffs her on the shoulder, like he's showing her they're still friends. Are they friends? I never really thought about it much, but the way they act around each other is almost like they're brother and sister. But I'll think about that later, looks like we're moving on, "Now the only issue is that we need someone to train Babbit. If only Smolders were in action, he was always the one to train the new ones, but obviously….." He trails off and no one speaks. People start to get antsy and play with their brooms in the silence. Finally, "well Babbit, I'll work something out for your training by next practice, alright? Until then, just try to fly as much as possible in your spare time. Now, enough with the administrative business, I want to see ten laps around the field." There are a series of groans and protests, and I just stand there, hoping he'll change his mind. He just stands there, and finally we realize he's just going to wait until we start running, and all set off. "Remember," he calls after us, and then needs to amplify his voice with his wand, "IF YOU'D BEEN USING THE RUNNING AND JOGGING SCHEDULE I SENT OUT AT THE START OF THE SUMMER HOLIDAY, THIS SHOULDN'T BE HARD!" From the looks on everyone's faces, it's clear that no one's been using his schedule, and they've heard this talk before. I keep running, trying to pace myself, yet trying not to fall behind. "BABBIT!" I tense up, hoping I won't be reprimanded for not running fast enough or something of the like. I _have_ been lagging a little behind the slowest team members- I've never been a good runner, despite what some assume when they see my slighter frame. "YOU HAVEN'T HAD THE SCHEDULE, AND PAM'S SAID SHE DIDN'T SHARE IT WITH YOU –WHICH IS RIDICULOUS, FRANKLY, AS IT WAS A VERY ORGANISED AND INFORMATIONAL SCHEDULE, WITH A NATURAL PROGRESSION OF-," Reynolds, the keeper with long fluffy blonde hair, punches him in the abdomen as she passes. "OUCH! DAMN IT REYNOLDS! FINE, I GET IT! YOU HATE THE SCHEDULE! BUT I'M TELLING YOU, IF I WERE PAM I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE TO SHARE SUCH A SPECTACULAR SCHEDULE WITH ALL MY LITTLE FRIEN- OUCH!" Pam had followed our keeper's example and had swatted Weasley over the head mid-stride. I hear a quieter,

"I'm only a year or so younger than you Weasley, you great twat!"

"FORGET IT! FINE! THE POINT IS, BABBIT, YOU ONLY HAVE TO RUN SEVEN LAPS, SINCE YOU CLEARLY DIDN'T HAVE THE BEST SCHEDULE-ACCESS." Thank god. I keep running, having abandoned all efforts to pace myself ages ago and now just huffing along as fast as I can. I feel nauseous and more than anything else I just want to _stop_ already. The running seems to go on for several forevers, even though it's probably more in the minute range. At last, I reach the rest of them, scattered on the ground resting and drinking water. I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one still huffing and puffing. Weasley looks down at us all, decidedly unimpressed, before plopping down in the mix. I turn to Pam,

"Does _he _ever do these things too? It'd only be fair, right?"

"Oh, yeah, he usually joins in after the first couple. It's not all exercises either, don't worry. It's mostly on-broom practice, but some days he decides to wear us out before we even get up in the air."

"Good. Not looking forward to doing this again."

"You _should_ try to exercise more though. It helps your quidditch performance more than you'd think."

"Okay. Well, we'll see." And practice continues.

**AN:**_ Thanks a lot for reading, and please do review!_

_Luzy Roo: Thank you! Yes, Hugo doesn't seem to crop up nearly as much as I'd like him to around here. I'll be sure to check out your story at some point!_

_~Cordelia_

_P.S. I forgot to write a chapter title up top, and it was really bothering me, so I went back and did it. I think that means if you've subscribed you'll get another alert, so sorry about that!_


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